cowers in the uncut grass of my Uncle’s backyard.
My cousin hands over the rifle:
“I’m tired.” he says.
Through the scope, I can see beyond the fence
across the neighboring field to the curtain of the woods
I imagine a back road Christian cheerleading squad emerging—chanting:
Go Jesus! Go Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! Go Jesus!
Something clicks behind me, and I can smell my cousin smoking.
“You’re like your dad,” he says.
I aim at the rust annexed 82' front plate--
"What do you mean?" I ask
“You’re both think--
this is really good ben. it reminds me of "snow" from actual air - how your speaker distances himself from his cousin.
ReplyDeletealso i think it's interesting that you and mary both use images of fences and woods in your newest poems. must be the milwaukee collective unconscious, i guess!